


Fire Pretty, Smoke Inconvenient

by Kryptaria



Category: Captain America (Movies), James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fire, Gen, Grenades, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:53:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It will <i>never</i> be a good idea, in any universe, to introduce Captain America and the Winter Soldier to the agents of the Double O Programme. And that's before you get the grenades involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Pretty, Smoke Inconvenient

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AoifeMoran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoifeMoran/gifts).
  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [Fire Pretty, Smoke Inconvenient](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764489) by [Albilibertea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albilibertea/pseuds/Albilibertea)



> Thanks to scriptrixlatinae and rayvanfox for the beta!

As another explosion rocked the testing ground, James Bond dragged Q back under the dubious cover of a folding conference table, shouting over the alarms, “Whose bloody brilliant idea was this?”

“Multinational” — Q winced at a particularly loud bang; he frantically stabbed at his tablet — “cooperation.”

“Bloody politicians!”

The table creaked as a man leaped through what had once been shatterproof safety glass. He landed with grace that belied his muscular six-foot stature. His suit was a wreck, white shirt covered with soot, and he had a gaudy round red, blue, and silver shield strapped to his arm.

“We gotta get out of here,” he announced.

“Did you figure that out all on your own?” Bond drawled.

“ _You_ people were the ones who brought out the grenades,” Captain Steve Rogers, retired, said in a stern voice.

“Yes, and _you_ brought a half-deprogrammed Russian assassin onto British soil,” Bond snapped back.

Rogers bristled. “In case you didn’t notice, you had one yourself!”

“Alec Trevelyan is _not_ —”

 _“Gentlemen!”_ Q barked, the lenses of his glasses flaring as his tablet flashed. “It seems we had an accidental batch of live grenades shipped with the training smoke grenades.”

“‘Did you figure that out on your own?’” Rogers asked with a smirk.

Bond’s fists clenched. “You’d do well to watch your —”

Q shoved between Rogers and Bond. “Not helping! James, you need to try and talk Alec back down. I think I can get us into comms, assuming they haven’t blown the speakers. Steve, you’ll need to fetch Bucky.”

_“Fetch?”_

Q took a deep breath, the sound so loud in the abrupt silence that all three men went still.

“Is it over?” Q asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Oh, God. Alec,” Bond said, an uncharacteristic note of panic coming into his voice. Rogers’ eyes went wide, and all three men scrambled to their feet, shoving the table aside.

Smoke filled the shattered window, billowing and whirling without dissipating. The ventilation system had been one of the first casualties of the exercise gone wrong. All three men stared into that hazy darkness, fear etched on their faces. Rogers and Bond stepped forward — Q would have joined them, but Bond, always protective of civilians, put out an arm to hold him back.

And from the darkness came the one sound none of them expected to hear: two deep voices chuckling.

“Sounds bloody boring, if you ask me,” Alec Trevelyan said in a casual, amused tone.

“Yeah? What do you know? You don’t even let your guys tackle each other in ‘football’,” Bucky Barnes countered.

“It’s called rugby, and we don’t load our lads down in armor,” Alec countered as the two emerged from the smoke. “Tell him, James.”

Bucky frowned. “What happened to the window?”

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve said, sagging against the wall of the concrete observation room. “I thought you were dead!”

“You _sodding idiot!_ ” Q snapped, advancing to the edge of the broken glass, glaring ferociously at Alec. “You’ll be on desk duty for _six bloody months_ once I’m through with you!”

“What’d I do? I didn’t do anything!” Alec protested, baffled.

“We were testing the grenades,” Bucky said, wide-eyed. “They were marked for testing.”

“Right!”

The three men in the observation room stared at the two sooty, vaguely scorched, self-appointed grenade testers.

It was Bond who turned away first, saying, “There’s an excellent pub just down the road, Captain Rogers. Care to sample the local scotch before heading back to London?”

Steve nodded. “Love to, Commander Bond.”

“Quartermaster?”

“Don’t call me that,” Q said. “I quit. I can’t do this anymore.”

Smiling, Bond patted Q’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Q. We’ll put them _both_ on our respective countries’ watchlists. They’ll never come within three thousand miles of one another again.”


End file.
